


the best part of a bad situation

by doctorkaitlyn



Series: teen wolf rare character bingo. [21]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Human, F/F, First Dates, Fluff, Getting Together, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-08 06:16:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11640669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: “Are you ready to laugh out there?” the comedian begins. A few people yell or clap, but Malia isn’t one of them.“If none of these people turn out to be funny, I’m going to kill Stiles,” she says.“I’m sure he won’t be that bad,” Kira says with a shrug, taking a sip of her water as he launches into his first joke of the set.(or, the one where Malia and Kira go have their first date at a painfully unfunny comedy show, courtesy of Stiles.)





	the best part of a bad situation

**Author's Note:**

> written for the 'comedy' square on my Teen Wolf Rare Character Bingo card! this completes the card!
> 
> inspired by the prompt 'first date to a painfully unfunny comedy show?'

Although it technically isn’t even fall yet, Kira swears that she can already feel the sharp nip of winter on the brisk wind coursing through the streets. 

There are huge goosebumps trailing up and down her arms underneath her sleeves. She definitely didn’t dress warm enough; when she was picking out clothes for the night, she’d gone for a black skirt over leggings and a thin, star-patterned sweater that seemed more first date material than one of the oversized hoodies she kept around to ward away the cold. 

According to her roommate, the sweater had been a good choice, but she’s _really_ starting to regret prioritizing her appearance over comfort. 

Crossing her arms over her chest in a feeble attempt to keep warm, she tries to sink back further into the slight alcove she’s been standing in for the past fifteen minutes. She’d been so concerned about arriving on time that she’d left nearly an hour ahead of time and, as a result, had to kill half an hour in a bookstore before she felt comfortable heading over to the comedy club she’s supposed to meet her date at but apparently, based on the fact her date is five minutes late and counting, her concern was unnecessary. 

Checking her phone to make sure she hasn’t missed some kind of heads-up text, and finding nothing except a message from Allison (which is probably just a picture of their cat doing something ridiculous or adorable), she sighs and rubs at her arms. The show that they have tickets for (courtesy of Stiles, who set this whole thing up after _weeks_ of bugging Kira until she finally agreed) doesn’t start for another half hour, but if there’s still no sign of her date in twenty minutes, she’s calling it a night. It’s too damn cold to wait longer than that, and sitting through a comedy show alone sounds way worse than just heading home, getting back into her pajamas and eating some ice cream.

While she continues to wait, she goes back over what all she knows about Malia. They’ve never met face to face, but they exchanged a few texts after Stiles had set them up, although they didn’t really talk about much more than formalities, like what time to meet and where to grab food afterwards. Everything else she knows came from Stiles, who met Malia in a study group for a class they have together. It was all good things, mostly; he _had_ mentioned that Malia did have a tendency to come off as blunt, but she had a good heart and was trustworthy which, coming from Stiles, who got along with people well enough but actually trusted about as many people as Kira could count on one hand, was a ringing endorsement. 

The fact that she’s very pretty, based on the pictures Kira has seen, is just a bonus. 

Just as she reaches to pull her phone out of her pocket to check the time again, someone clears their throat in front of her. 

“Kira?” 

Kira glances up to find herself face to face with Malia. Her hair is different from the last picture that Kira had seen; it’s chin length and brown, rather than flowing and honey-blonde. She’s wearing an unbuttoned flannel over a tank top and cut-off shorts that expose miles of her tanned legs, but if she’s cold, she’s hiding it very well. 

“Hi!” Kira says, shoving her phone back into her pocket. “Did you find the place okay?” 

Malia nods. “Sorry I’m late. I was studying with my roommate and lost track of time.” 

“It’s fine,” Kira shrugs, stepping out of the alcove and trying to bite back a shiver as a gust of wind immediately cuts through her sweater. “I don’t think we’ve missed anything yet.” 

“Probably not.” Reaching into her pocket, Malia pulls out a crumpled piece of paper that Kira recognizes as a ticket when she unfolds it. “Have you ever been to this place?” 

Never.” Her own ticket is a little smoother than Malia’s, although it’s dotted with glitter from sitting on her dresser. “I don’t even know if Stiles has either, actually. Or how he got the tickets.” 

“Probably better not to ask,” Malia says, holding out her hand for Kira’s ticket as they approach the entrance. “Unless you want to listen to three unconnected stories before he actually answers you.” 

The laugh that bursts from Kira’s chest is embarrassingly loud, and she has to clasp her hands together to keep from slamming them over her own mouth. Her cheeks flush with painfully hot warmth, but before she can try to come up with some kind of way to distract Malia with something else, Malia breaks out into a wide grin. 

“If you laugh like that in there, you’ll be their favorite person,” she says, passing the tickets over to the door attendant, who waves them inside. 

Somehow, that just makes Kira blush harder.

&.

The main room of the club is smaller than Kira expected. There’s a bar curving along one wall, and the center of the room is dotted with two dozen tables of varying sizes. There are a few two-person ones still available up towards the stage, but when Malia chooses one near the entrance, Kira breathes a sigh of relief. Even though she’s never been to a comedy club, she knows that audience participation is sometimes a thing that happens, and the more she can avoid being the center of attention, the better.

Once they actually sit down, close enough to be almost shoulder to shoulder due to the small size of the table, Kira has to fumble to try and figure out how to initiate a conversation again. It’s not that talking is hard; most of the time, if she’s with someone she knows well or if she’s excited about a topic, it’s difficult for her to wrangle the words spilling from her mouth, let alone bring them to a step. 

But actually _starting_ a conversation with someone she barely knows, settling on something she can say that won’t make them look at her weird, is the difficult part. 

“I like your hair,” she finally blurts out. Before she can lose her nerve, she continues, “It looks different than in the pictures Stiles showed me.” 

“It looks okay?” Malia asks, frowning slightly as she pinches a strand in her fingers and tugs it out in front of her face, like she’s inspecting it for defects. “I did it myself a few days ago. It was getting in the way.” 

“It looks great,” Kira affirms. Truthfully, it looks better than some of the professional haircuts she’s had in the past, although she’s willing to admit that many of those failures were caused by her being too nervous to speak up when the stylist was doing something she really didn’t want. “Did you dye it yourself too?” 

Malia shakes her head but before she can answer, the overhead lights dim and a spotlight snaps on, illuminating a microphone stand placed at center stage. The club’s MC steps out of the wings and runs through a quick spiel about some of the acts that will be performing over the next few hours and the general rules of conduct for the club. When they finish up, they introduce the first performer of the night, and Kira claps politely as a burly guy with a beard in a t-shirt and jeans steps up onto the stage and adjusts the mic to his height. 

“Are you ready to laugh out there?” he begins with. A few people yell or clap again, but Malia isn’t one of them. She leans forward and crosses her arms on the table, elbow just barely bumping against Kira’s. 

“If none of these people turn out to be funny, I’m going to kill Stiles,” she says. 

“I’m sure he won’t be that bad,” Kira says with a shrug, taking a sip of her water as the comedian launches into his first joke of the set.

&.

Bad doesn’t come close to describing just how awful the set is.

The first few jokes fall completely and utterly flat. They simply aren’t funny, and with each one he tells, the room grows quieter and quieter, until the awkwardness feels like a physical presence, heavy as a blanket.

“Alrighty,” the comedian says after yet another so-called joke is met with silence. “I’m going to try something different now.” 

“Like not sucking?” Malia mutters under her breath, chin propped in one hand. 

Kira snorts and nearly chokes on her water and, for a few seconds, Malia’s frown transforms into a soft smile. 

The transformation only lasts for as long as it takes the comedian to talk again. 

The next story he tells is a little better; it’s about something he witnessed while riding the subway on a trip to New York, and as someone who lived there for the first fifteen years of her life, Kira can definitely relate. 

But after that, the set goes completely downhill. 

While his delivery certainly improves, the content does not. Every story that he tells is tinged with misogyny, racism, and homophobia, sometimes all at the same time, and as more time progresses with no sign of him leaving the stage, Kira sinks lower and lower in her chair, until her eyes are level with the table. 

The only way the night could get any worse is if Malia was laughing at the jokes but, thankfully, she hasn’t made a single amused sound since he relaunched into his act. Her face is set like stone, and when Kira glances at where her fingers are curled around her own elbows, she notices that her knuckles are white, like she’s forcibly holding herself back. 

Finally, after an excruciatingly long time, the man finally announces that he’s on the last story of his act. It’s somehow even worse than all the others combined, and when he speaks the last word into the mic, it echos around a room that is otherwise silent, completely devoid of a single chuckle or clap. 

It remains silent until Malia sits up straight and opens her mouth for the first time in fifteen minutes. 

“You’re not funny, and you’re an asshole,” she yells at the man’s back as he exits the right side of the stage. Someone sitting at a table near the front of the room whoops in agreement, and there’s scattered applause, but if Malia notices, she doesn’t give any indication. Instead, she twists in her seat until she’s facing Kira head-on. 

“I know it’s early, but can we go?” she asks. “If I have to sit through any more of that, I’m going to kick someone’s ass.” 

Kira’s _very_ glad that Malia asked first, because she was just in the middle of trying to figure out the best way to ask if they could leave. 

“Me too,” she says, pushing her chair back and getting to her feet. “Let’s get out of here before the next act starts.”

&.

When they step back onto the street, it’s fully dark and the night has grown even colder. Kira immediately wraps her arms tightly around her torso and mentally kicks herself for not bringing a jacket. The diner that they’ve agreed to have dinner at is only a ten minute walk away, but those ten minutes are going to feel like an eternity, not to mention that it’s going to be next to impossible to focus on carrying on a conversation with Malia when she’s too busy shivering.

Before she can lose herself on that train of thought, a slight weight drapes over her shoulders, which she quickly realizes is Malia’s flannel. 

“I could hear your teeth clattering,” she says by way of explanation, tucking her hands into the front pockets of her shorts. Her tank top leaves the entirety of her arms and a portion of her chest exposed, but if she feels the cold, there’s no outward sign that she’s bothered by it. 

“Are you sure?” Kira asks, curling her fingers into the shirt. It feels soft and well-worn, well-loved, against her fingertips. 

“Positive,” Malia says with a firm nod. “I’ll be fine. Are you hungry?” 

On cue, Kira’s stomach rumbles. 

“I could definitely eat,” she says, sliding the flannel on and tucking her cold hands into her armpits. “Lead the way.” 

They’ve only taken a few steps down the sidewalk when she realizes that not only is the flannel soft and decent enough at blocking out the wind, it also smells very good, a little like pine. 

Which means that Malia smells very good. 

That thought makes her flush, which she immediately tries to hide by ducking her chin to her chest. 

Based on the grin she catches Malia giving her from the corner of her eye, she doesn’t think that her attempt is entirely successful.

&.

Thankfully, dinner goes much better than the show and, at the end of the night, when they’re standing at the bottom of the steps leading into Kira’s apartment, Malia refuses to take back her flannel.

“You can give it back to me next time,” she says, smoothing down the collar, fingers lingering for a second longer than would denote mere friendliness. “Okay?” 

“Okay,” Kira says, trying and failing to keep herself from grinning like a dork. “Next time.”

&.

Once she’s gotten into her apartment, she manages to last all of five minutes before she pulls her phone out and opens her conversation with Malia.

Before she can fall into a cycle of overthinking that’s bound to last hours, she types out her message and immediately presses send. 

_could ‘next time’ be sooner rather than later?_

Nerves instantly start gathering in her stomach, but before she can start feeling too queasy, her phone buzzes in her lap. 

_next time could be tomorrow, if you want it to be!_

Grinning, she immediately starts another message. 

All things aside, despite the terrible comedy show and the cold, she thinks it was a successful first date, definitely the most successful she’s had in a long time. 

She just hopes the second one goes as well.

&.

(It does.

And they only get better from there.)

**Author's Note:**

> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
